My most vivid childhood memory is of the family boat, the Tee Gee. The boat was named for my grandmother, Teresa Gilman. It was a modest thing -- a 29-footer, Chris Craft, wooden, built in Miami, Florida in 1961. It was painted red at the water line, with cotton curtains in the windows and vinyl cushions on the seats. On deck, two captain's chairs swiveled a full 360 degrees. Off the stern a wood-slotted swim board jutted out just above the surface of the water. Below deck, a small galley table, hinged to the starboard wall, lifted to reveal a fold out twin bed beneath. Opposite, a small head flushed directly into the sea. Beside it, we had a small stove top and an oven to cook. Forward, a larger bed was tucked away into the v birth. At night, I was rocked to sleep by the sea, a lullaby of stars, water slapping at the sides.
When I was four years old, my dad took a job managing a restaurant inland and that was that. My boating life was over faster than you could tie a square knot. For a while we returned to the boat each summer, but as time marched on, the ride between Worcester and Newburyport felt longer and longer, and we returned less and less. Eventually my dad sold the boat to his cousin Jimmy for the very reasonable price of one dollar. Since then Jimmy has maintained the boat to the best of his ability. That is to say, it still floats, barely, each summer, with the help of a good bilge pump, at the North End Boat Club.
On occasion I have ventured out to the end of the float dock, past other boats full of families and friends, people I used to know, spinning out the lines of their lives with each tide. When I reach the slip, the Tee Gee no longer looks the same. It is the shell of the thing I remember. The swim board is gone. So too are the curtains and the cushions. The last time I checked, even the wheel had been removed.
In some ways my whole life has been an attempt to get back to that boat. Just recently, I bought a small dory from a woman in Hampton, NH for $300 cash. And slowly, I have begun to build my life around it.
Saturday April 2, 2011
My most vivid childhood memory is of the family boat, the Tee Gee. The boat was named for my grandmother, Teresa Gilman. It was a modest thing -- a 29-footer, Chris Craft, wooden, built in Miami, Florida in 1961. It was painted red at the water line, with cotton curtains in the windows and vinyl cushions on the seats. On deck, two captain's chairs swiveled a full 360 degrees. Off the stern a wood-slotted swim board jutted out just above the surface of the water. Below deck, a small galley table, hinged to the starboard wall, lifted to reveal a fold out twin bed beneath. Opposite, a small head flushed directly into the sea. Beside it, we had a small stove top and an oven to cook. Forward, a larger bed was tucked away into the v birth. At night, I was rocked to sleep by the sea, a lullaby of stars, water slapping at the sides.
When I was four years old, my dad took a job managing a restaurant inland and that was that. My boating life was over faster than you could tie a square knot. For a while we returned to the boat each summer, but as time marched on, the ride between Worcester and Newburyport felt longer and longer, and we returned less and less. Eventually my dad sold the boat to his cousin Jimmy for the very reasonable price of one dollar. Since then Jimmy has maintained the boat to the best of his ability. That is to say, it still floats, barely, each summer, with the help of a good bilge pump, at the North End Boat Club.
On occasion I have ventured out to the end of the float dock, past other boats full of families and friends, people I used to know, spinning out the lines of their lives with each tide. When I reach the slip, the Tee Gee no longer looks the same. It is the shell of the thing I remember. The swim board is gone. So too are the curtains and the cushions. The last time I checked, even the wheel had been removed.
In some ways my whole life has been an attempt to get back to that boat. Just recently, I bought a small dory from a woman in Hampton, NH for $300 cash. And slowly, I have begun to build my life around it.
And here is a bit of YouTube whimsy:
Here I am, hard at work